


The Scars From Tomorrow

by Saoirse_Laochra



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Gen, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, M/M, Past Child Abuse, Underage Drinking, Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-05-14 01:42:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5724736
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saoirse_Laochra/pseuds/Saoirse_Laochra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s the town right? It’s gotta be the town; our luck can’t be that freakin’ bad!"</p>
<p>Stiles and Scott find a young werewolf in the back of Stiles' jeep after practice. It all just... sort of goes downhill from there.</p>
<p>Takes place after Season 2, but before Season 3 begins. An OFC story with a twist: you readers decide the relationships. See notes for more details.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Scars From Tomorrow

**Author's Note:**

> Hello all, and thanks for bothering to read this story. The idea for this came after my friend asked me if I had to pick just one of the characters from the show to be with, who would it be? Well, I thought about it and couldn't really come up with an answer. I figure, I can't be the only one with multiple favorites. So I decided to write a story where the readers -that would be you guys -decide who the character ends up with, and how the relationship progresses. In the spirit of that, after reading, I ask all of you to leave a comment with who you think the character would/should end up with -mind you, it doesn't have to be a character in the story yet, but a character who will be (The Twins, anyone?). And if you like the second chapter, I would ask that each reader who wants decides how they think the relationships in a chapter would play out. For example, how you guys think the OFC would get along with, say, Stiles.
> 
> Now, no characters are out of the running for this, but my personal list couldn't get narrowed further than Derek, Scott, Stiles, Isaac, and Aiden. But that's just me. Feel free to throw out any character within reason, i.e., I'm not going to devote a story to the OFC and Kate Argent.
> 
> Notes on the story: I've taken some liberties with the werewolf mythology, but it keeps true to the basics, and the things I've added work with canon. This will follow the main plot line from Season three, and move on from there.

“It’s the town right? It’s gotta be the town; our luck can’t be that freakin’ bad!”

Scott glanced over at Stiles, who was running his hands through his thickening hair, pacing nervously along the side of his jeep, avoiding looking in the back seat.

To be fair, Scott was thinking the same thing. Why them? Why him? Did other people find random strange girls in the back of their car? No. Did other people find bodies, get turned into werewolves, and so on?

Well… Obviously some people did. But it seemed to be happening with stark regularity in his life lately.

He was so focused on his absolutely shitty luck, that he nearly missed it. Not surprising, really, given all the blood, dirt, and sweat smells pouring out of the backseat of Stiles’ already oily, French-fry, moldy Pop-Tart smelling jeep.

“Stiles.” He said quietly. When his best friend continued to rant a few feet behind him, he spoke a bit sharper. “Stiles!”

“What?!”

“We need to get her to Deaton’s. Now.”

“Dea –No. No, no, no!” The smaller boy whined, digging in his pockets for his car keys. “Tell me this isn’t another werewolf.”  He continued to gripe as he slid into the driver’s seat, and turned the engine over. “This freakin’ town! It’s like… like it’s made out of werewolf Kibble or something! You guys just keep crawling out of the woodworks. You know, I went my whole life without…”

Scott tuned him out as they started the drive from the school to Deaton’s vet clinic. The smell radiating off the girl was powerful; he wasn’t sure exactly what it was that was so overwhelming,  but something about her just smelled… off. Wrong, almost. Not dangerous, but… just not right.

“Scott!”

Scott snapped his head back around, glancing over at Stiles, who was glaring at him.

“What?”

“I said, should we call Derek?”

Scott looked at him curiously. “Why? She’s not one of his. He hasn’t made any since…” His voice trailed off, but the silent implication was clear.

Since Erica and Boyd had gone missing.

“Because! You’re not an Alpha. This girl hulks out, _you_ gonna be able to stop her?”

He only hesitated for a second, before pulling his phone out of his pocket, and punching in Derek’s number.

 

* * *

 

Almost as if he knew they were coming, Deaton was waiting by the small gate to the back.

“Seems to be a busy week,” He said laconically, grabbing a pair of his surgical gloves as Scott hoisted the girl onto the table.

“Tell me about it,” The young werewolf muttered, glancing down at his blood-stained shirt. Idly, he wondered if there was any justifiable way of explaining it to his mother, or if he should just throw it out.

“Dude. It’s an _original_ Zeppelin shirt.”

Scott didn’t realize he’d spoken out loud until Stiles answered him with a horrified expression. Rolling his eyes, he stripped the shirt off, and tossed it in Deaton’s trashcan, before turning his attention back to the Druid, who was bent over the girl’s still form.

“How is she?”

Deaton frowned, his face thoughtful as he bent over the girl, his eyes searching. “I’m… not sure. These wounds are all… well, for a werewolf, they’re all fairly superficial. Deep, probably painful, but nothing detrimental. Even if these wounds were inflicted by an Alpha, they’re all non-vital locations. Not exactly skin deep, but not deep enough to cause a werewolf to bleed out. There’s something else going on here.” He paused for a moment, lost in thought, before going over to what the werewolves had come to call his ‘spice rack’.

It was that moment when Scott felt the air change in the small room. It was subtle, barely discernable… But it was there.

“Doc… Stiles. Whatever you do… Don’t. Move.”

Both men froze, and Scott slowly turned around, keeping his hands at his sides in what he hoped was a peaceful looking gesture.

The girl was crouched on top of the table, four inch claws grasping the edge lightly, dark brown fur protruding from the sides of her face, her lips pulled back around her fangs in a silent growl.

“Hey, um… I’m uh… I’m Scott. Scott McCall. This here’s my best friend Stiles, and this is our vet, Dr. Deaton. We uh… We found you in the back of Stiles’ jeep. We’re not gonna hurt you, we just… Deaton was just looking to see if you were okay?”

_Where the hell was Derek?_ The girl didn’t look any calmer; in fact, she didn’t look like much of anything. While it almost looked like she was snarling, there wasn’t really anything behind it. No anger, no fear, no… no nothing. Her pose was full of aggression, but her face was so freaking blank it was like looking at a statue.

The only thing that let him know she was alive was the way her dark red eyes kept glancing around the room.

“Scott? Scott, her eyes are _red_. They’re… they’re freaking _red_ , man,” Stiles whispered, although with Scott’s enhanced  hearing he might as well have been yelling. “She’s an _Alpha_. Where the hell is Derek? If she goes nut, she… you can’t stop her. She's gonna kill you, then she’s gonna kill us, man.  She’s gonna freakin’ _eat_ us. Why us? Why the hell does this keep happening to me?”

The girl quirked her head to the side, her gaze stopping on Stiles.

Which wasn’t necessarily bad… until she licked her lips.

Scott moved without thinking, stepping in front of Stiles, fangs bared in a quiet growl of his own, ignoring Stiles' quiet whimper. He could feel the werewolf in him rising up, responding to the girl’s blatant challenge. Stiles was _his_. _His_ pack. Not hers.

His movements definitely got her attention. Her claws gripped the edge of the metal table, and her lips pulled back further as she let out a low roar. Scott could see her feet tensing, leg muscles rippling, and he knew she was getting ready to pounce.

Scott growled louder, hoping against hope that maybe it’d be enough.

Her responding roar was loud enough to shake the rafters.

But the one that answered was loud enough to make everyone in the room cringe.

Scott breathed a slight sigh of relief as Derek jumped over him, landing in a crouch, his own eyes glowing bright red as he snarled at the girl.

She snarled back, and Scott’s sense of relief flew out the window as the two began circling.

“Scott, get them out of here,” Derek growled.

“Derek, wait!” Deaton called out, stepping in between the two.

“Move.”

“No.” Deaton said firmly, before turning his back to Derek, and looking the girl in the eye. “Listen to me. My name is Deaton. I’m a Druid Emissary.” At the girl’s slightly widened eyes, Deaton nodded. “That’s right. I’m not allowed to hurt you. We’re not _here_ to hurt you. The pack found you in their car, and brought you here to me because you were injured. We don’t want a fight. We were only trying to help. If you want to leave, the door’s right there, and none of us will stop you.” He kept his voice calm, and quiet, his hands held up passively as he tried grabbing the girl’s eyes.

She hesitated for a few seconds, before wobbling a bit, and falling to her side on the table.

Derek looked down at the still form for a few minutes, before turning to Stiles and Scott. “You two have some of the worst luck I’ve ever seen.”

 

* * *

“Alright, so you came out of practice, and she was just lying in the backseat of your jeep?” Derek asked skeptically, one eyebrow quirked up.

They were sitting in the back office of Deaton’s clinic,  since he’d shooed them out of the surgery room. Stiles was leaning back in the chair behind the desk, while Scott was pacing behind him agitatedly. Derek, on the other hand, looked perfectly calm. Matter of fact, Stiles thought idly, he looked like finding random crazy Alpha female werewolves in the backseat of jeeps was a completely normal occurrence.

“A powerful Alpha, and she was just lying there. In your car.”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Nope. You caught us. Boy wonder here and I went out, found an _Alpha_ , and thought, ‘Hey! Why _not_ beat the crap out of her with some mysterious voodoo crap that doesn’t heal? We’d _love_ to die today!’” He blew a raspberry, before folding his arms over his chest.

Derek looked down at him in disgust, before exiting the room.

Stiles glanced up at Scott. “Dude, that guy? Serious communication issues.”

Scott scoffed at him, and followed Derek out of the room.

Stiles glanced around the empty room for a second, before getting to his feet. “And they’re starting to rub off on you,” He muttered, skulking out of the room.

 

* * *

Derek was circling around the operating table slowly, watching Deaton work silently, as he thought.

There weren’t too many female Alphas. In his life, he’d only met two, and heard of one more. One was his mother. The other was a Chinese woman who’d been friends with his mother. The only other female Alpha he knew about was an Indian woman named Kali, who’d –according to rumor –went insane and slaughtered her own pack.

They were a rare species. Female werewolves were fairly rare to begin with; most didn’t take the change well unless they were born to it, like his mother and sisters. Few survived the initial bite, and if they did, wolf mentality rarely let them rise high in the pack. The few who made it to Alpha status were challenged constantly, and –according to Talia –typically went Omega, and wandered on their own to avoid the constant challenges.

But this girl looked young; a few years older than Scott maybe, but definitely younger than him. Maybe old enough to drink legally. _No way she’d been an Alpha for more than a year if that._

But she was powerful; as soon as Derek had stepped into the small clinic, he’d felt the Alpha pull. Her roar was strong enough that he’d felt the wolf rising up in challenge, and he’d had to fight it down to keep control –something he hadn’t had to do since his teenage years.

_She had to have been born a werewolf_. No way a female got that powerful, that young from the bite.

“Derek. Look at this,” Deaton said quietly, pointing to the girl’s clavicle. Derek peered over, watching closely as the vet gently rubbed away the dirt and blood, revealing…

Derek pulled back sharply, his breath catching in his throat for a moment.

“You recognize it?”

He glanced over at Scott, who was looking over Deaton’s shoulder at the tattoo.

“It’s a Celtic Cross,” He said slowly, tracing his finger over the knotted circle surrounding the black and green cross. The sides touched the edges of her shoulder, while the top rested just below her throat. The bottom disappeared somewhere below her shirt.

“And… you wanna know who her artist is?” Stiles asked. When the two werewolves and the druid looked at him, the little pissant shrugged. “What? C’mon, guys, the Cross is common as dirt. I can name ten people in our class who have it. Maybe not that big or detailed, but still.”

Derek took a deep breath, fighting the urge to deck the kid in the forehead. “No, moron. This particular work is unique. To a specific family of werewolves from out in Montana. Their Alpha came down when I was a kid, tried to recruit my mother.”

Scott frowned as he leaned closer to see the tattoo. “Recruit her for what?”

“They were hunters,” Derek said simply. “They hunted the hunters. They took the Hunter’s code and applied it back on them: we hunt those who hunt us. They actively tracked down and killed anyone associated with the hunters -family, friends, relatives... Anybody they could get their claws on. And their Alpha wanted my mother to join them in their crusade. She was well-respected up and down the coast, and they knew having her on their side would pull more to their cause.”

“And… Did she accept?” Stiles asked, glancing down at the girl.

Derek shook his head. “No. My mother believed that, if we stayed out of hunters way, they’d stay out of ours. Our paths only intersected when one of ours stepped out of line. She viewed them as a necessary evil, a lot like police officers. She wasn’t about to start a war with them.”

“So, this _girl’s_ their Alpha?”

Derek scoffed, unable to believe Stiles’ stupidity. “No. Their Alpha was Connor Sullivan. It was a family pack, a lot like mine. But more brutal,” He said with a shrug. “I remember rumors… They said the young wolves get that tattoo on their first full moon.” When Scott and Stiles stared at him blankly –a look he was quickly becoming all too familiar with –he sighed. “For those of us born with the Gift, we get our first turn between eight and twelve. Remember how I got Scott’s tattoo to stick?”

Scott shuddered in remembrance. “Yeah. Not something I’d ever want to repeat.”

Derek nodded. “Exactly. Remember that pain, and look at where the tattoo is. The females got it on the front, directly below the neck. Males got it on the back of the neck, directly below their hair line. Rumor has it that only one out of every three of their children survive the process.”

“What about the human kids?”

Derek glanced at Stiles for a moment, before turning his attention back to the tattoo.

“Derek,” Scott said quietly. “You said your family had humans. They had to have some too, right? So what happened to a kid who didn’t turn by twelve?”

 

* * *

 

Scott watched Derek as he circled around the girl, before coming to a stop at her head. “How much of our… ‘lore’ do you know, Scott?” Derek asked quietly. “I mean… I assume you’ve heard the legends, right?”

Scott swallowed, a lump stuck in his throat as he tried nodding. But Derek continued on almost as if he hadn’t cared about his answer.

“Back in the early days, people thought that to be turned, you had to be mauled. That for the process to take place, you had to be one step away from death, so that the wolf could merge with you. That way of doing things killed about eighty percent of those they tried to turn. Now, in the last two hundred years, most of us have advanced beyond that. A bite is enough to infect; from an Alpha, a deep enough scratch can do it. Over the years, we figured out that either the bite takes or it doesn’t; there’s a seventy percent shot of it taking, and how bad the wound doesn’t change those odds. But... some of us like to keep it old-school.

“Like the Sullivans. Whenever they’re going to turn someone, they basically rip them apart first. Get them to death’s door with their claws and teeth. Now, again, using that process killed eighty percent of healthy, strong _adults_.”

His voice had a cold tone to it, but Scott could hear the slight quirk in his voice –undetectable to the human ear –that belied his cool demeanor.

“So imagine what that process does to a twelve year old child. According to my mother, only about five percent of their children survived that process. And if they do… well, again: only a third of them survive the tattooing process.”

He sighed, shaking his shoulders a bit, before looking up at Scott. “My mother said… the only bright side of their methods was the fact that the Sullivans were breeding themselves out. They couldn’t have enough children to justify the ones that they were killing.”

“So… That still doesn’t explain _her_ ,” Scott said, nodding down at the still form on the table.

Derek shrugged. “That’s as much as I know. She was part of the Sullivan Clan. Since I’m highly doubting she killed Connor Sullivan –a two hundred year old Alpha –I’m gonna assume she went Omega, and ran into an Alpha.”

Even as he said it, Scott could smell the faint trace of hesitation from the older werewolf.

Stiles had been chewing his thumbnail, staring down at the girl during most of the story, but he finally turned around, and looked at the three men.

“So… What happens when she wakes up? I mean… She’s an Alpha, Derek’s an Alpha, and Scott’s an Omega. Does this mean her and Derek have to have some wolfy 'battle to the death for dominance'? Does she have to chase Scott out of town, try and take his territory? How exactly is this gonna work when she wakes up?”

Derek gave Stiles that cold stare he’d perfected, flaring his nostrils for a moment, before shaking his head.

“Did your father drop you on your head as a child?”


End file.
